Summer Solstice
by blacktop
Summary: It's too darn hot, but that doesn't stop Reese and Carter from getting into a sultry situation. A strong T so enjoy. And please leave a review because we writers thrive on hearing from readers.


**Summer Solstice**

'Ditch Fusco'

The text message emitted its own kind of heat as it blazed off Carter's cell phone in the dim light of the great cathedral sanctuary.

As hour two of the solemn Mass for the late police captain Francis X. Pennington droned on, Carter assumed that her boredom and irritation must be matched by the hundreds of other uniformed police officers crowded into the cavernous space.

She knew that Reese knew exactly where she was. But she felt the need to reply anyway.

'Can't. Funeral'

'I'm the one dying here' How did he manage to text so fast?

'Cold shower. Try it' She turned off the device and hoped that somehow that gesture made an impressive sound at the other end.

Fusco sitting to her right bumped shoulders as a gentle corrective to her unseemly behavior. She felt like she was in high school again, crushing on the star quarterback.

Carter and Fusco had spent the first hours of the morning sweltering next to their fellow officers in ranks five deep and twenty broad on both sides of the steps leading up to the cathedral doors. Other officers were deployed along the curbs of the avenue in an imposing public display of the quasi-military might of the New York City Police Department.

Supporting a fallen brother was standard operating procedure in any circumstances. Turning out in mass array for the funeral of an officer struck down in the line of duty was an honored tradition.

Captain Pennington was a well-known and greatly-feared member of HR, the cabal of corrupt cops whose tentacles extended into every corner of the department. Over his thirty years of dubious service Pennington had risen to the top ranks of the most despised officers in the force.

As a result, most of the police attending his funeral were there to make sure he was well and truly dead.

Ink blue uniforms, thick wool clasped tightly across the chest with polished buttons and festooned with elaborate designations of rank, made for an impressive ceremony when presented in these gargantuan numbers.

But the dark uniforms were steamy and itchy; the peaked caps with their stiff brims captured every molecule of heat, magnifying the one hundred degree plus temperatures that pounded down on the ranks as time oozed past noon.

This was the longest day of the year and the hottest one by far.

Carter counted her meager blessings that day as the sweat pooled in the small of her back.

"At least I didn't faint yet like Martinez back there. And I don't think Nagai looks any too good either."

"Don't worry; I got your back, Carter. If you collapse, I'll carry you out."

Fusco considered the situation further.

"In fact, that would be a good way to get out of this god awful duty. Why don't you arrange to take a strategic tumble and we can get outta here."

"Oh, no, I'm not moving. I'm here to make sure that Pennington is gone for good."

"You and me both, partner."

When their vigil on the cathedral steps was over they were required to file inside to the relative coolness of the church. Carter had loosed a relieved sigh as they settled into place on the long wooden pews. She wanted to kick off her heavy lace-up brogues, but she was afraid her swollen feet would not fit back into them if she did.

The ritual intonations hummed; the crowd mumbled the ancient responses; the choir pumped out soothing hymns; the solitary bagpipe wailed in poignant counterpoint. Heads drooped and shoulders sagged.

As the Mass ended, Carter and Fusco rose with the other officers to salute the coffin as it passed through the carved archway and out into the punishing sunlight.

Her cell buzzed again with an urgent new text message.

'Frying here'

How did Reese know the precise moment that the ceremony ended?

'Cool your jets, flyboy' She was proud of the little joke she tossed back to him.

In response, Reese texted the address of his apartment near Chinatown.

Fusco's teasing inquiry was delivered in a whisper as they waited to file out onto the cathedral steps:

"Who you got in your pocket there? Roger Rabbit?"

"Yeah, I guess."

Fusco always could bring a smile to her face even in the most taxing circumstances.

"Hey, you'd be a terrific Jessica Rabbit. You look good in red!"

The address flared again on the blue lit screen. Accompanied by an urgent order:

'Take taxi. Finch will pay'

Carter was ready to act on the invitation. Before her own revved up internal combustion combined with the sultry sun to blow her gasket for real.

"Fusco, you think they'll miss me if I cut out now? I really don't think I can stand another hour of this heat at the cemetery."

"Nah, no one will notice. That's the beauty thing about the uniform. We all look alike. Anyway, I'll cover for you if anybody asks."

"Just make sure that creep Pennington really gets six feet of dirt piled on his coffin, will ya? I wouldn't want him coming back as a zombie to haunt me!"

She gave a dramatic shudder at the ghoulish thought, but her sentiments were real.

"Don't worry, Carter; I will personally throw on at least one shovel-full myself. That asshole gave me more grief than you will ever know."

As the immense black hearse pulled away from the curb with its entourage of fat Cadillacs in tow, Carter slipped along the block in the opposite direction. She quickly found a taxicab and gave the Chinatown address.

'On my way. Traffic terrible'

A final text before arrival seemed the least she could do.

The thumping of the cab's blessedly efficient air conditioner and the bubbly good cheer of the Ghanaian driver seemed to speed the journey downtown at least a little bit.

When she got to within two blocks of her destination, she stopped the taxi at the corner of a dusty little park. Despite the heat, she preferred, as always, to walk the short distance to Reese's apartment rather than give away his location.

Paranoia was her steady companion now.

This awful lurking dread mixed in her system with a hefty new portion of physical craving. Mocking all her nice principles, this crazy combination of fear and lust threw a double whammy into that personal rulebook she had crafted over a lifetime of strict denial and well-nurtured guilt.

And to top it all off there was this damned feeling that she was falling in love for the first time in more than two decades.

She knew she was seriously overmatched in this game, but her native stubbornness pushed her to play it out anyway.

As she crossed diagonally through the dry field, she noticed Mr. Han, Reese's checker-playing friend. On mischievous impulse, she stopped to say a word to the blind old man.

She hoped that John could see her from his window and would watch her movements closely.

Mr. Han beamed at her, asked after the health of her son, and gestured at the bench opposite him. She sat down and studied the array of black and white pieces on the cement table for several seconds before making what she hoped was a brilliant move.

Mr. Han responded as if she had won the world championship with that single play. He leaned back in his chair, applauded, and then laughed out loud. She guessed he was just being polite to a rank amateur who barely knew the rules of the game.

She also assumed that he knew that Reese would be watching them from his apartment window and that Han wanted to create a bit of theater to provoke his friend.

Since her best play was exhausted with that one move, she left Mr. Han to his perpetual game and sped down the last half block to her destination.

When she knocked once at the door of the apartment, it sprang open as if electrified.

John was standing behind the door at military attention. His solemn expression and alert posture were unexpectedly formal. However, the mood of precision and preparation was utterly contradicted by his attire, which consisted of black boxer shorts and a white dress shirt, unbuttoned. His feet were bare and the rolled back shirt cuffs revealed a mist of sweat on his forearms.

He looked anxious and utterly alluring.

The frank light in his icy eyes burned through her skull and made the back of her neck tingle. In contrast his mouth, slack and moist, seemed innocent like a child's.

Carter would have laughed at the erotic contradictions embodied in the man before her, but time ran out on that thought.

He pushed her back against the door, closing it, and clamping her in the vise of his desire. The skin of his chest was hot and the sparse hair there felt crisp to the touch. The black hair above his brow stood rigid, like metal filings aroused by a magnet. His beard, heavier than usual, pricked her face where he pressed against her. He needed to show her with his lips, his hands, his tongue, his teeth, that this was real and happening now.

Every pore and particle on his body seemed inflamed and erect; she felt his hunger pulsing through her heavy uniform.

He wrestled off her belt and pushed the wool trousers to the floor in a single movement. Her panties were dispatched and he was inside her in an instant, rocking her against the door with the force of his driving hips. She couldn't open her legs as wide as she wanted, but that tightness excited her more. His tongue and cock mimicked each other, pistoning in and out of her in a series of powerful surges.

She didn't expect to come so quickly or so violently, but she did. Surrendering to him was easy even in this awkward position.

She hadn't had time to catch her breath, when his orgasm took it away again.

After several moments, John leaned away from her.

"Hi."

He removed her peaked hat and held it gingerly in his fingertips, studying the metal badge over its bill.

She took his face in both hands and brought it close to hers.

"Hi."

She pressed her lips to his greedily and he relaxed his mouth to receive her tongue.

When they could speak again, he haltingly tried an explanation.

"I saw you stop and talk to Han… When you sat down I just... The suit, all buttoned up, the tie, everything so… I don't know…"

She puffed out a bit of a laugh.

"You just can't resist a girl in uniform, hunh?"

"I guess not."

She lifted his chin with two fingers.

"Well, I'm going to file that intel away for future use."

She tried to take a step forward but was arrested by the trousers still puddled around her ankles. She laughed again, more fully.

"Help a girl out, will you?"

He easily gathered her up in his arms and carried her across the floor in long strides to place her on the giant divan.

Leaning against the two story high brick wall, the bed's imposing carved headboard was the dominant decorative piece in the room. After the first five nights of restless discomfort, Reese had decided that the exposed bed would make a better sofa than sleep spot. So he bought a simple futon mattress which he dragged up the spiral staircase to the loft overhanging the living area.

Tucked up there out of the direct glare of those vast panopticon windows, Reese found he could rest unobserved, enclosed, and at peace.

On Joss's first visit to the new place, she had brought a house-warming present selected by Mrs. Soni, John's landlady at Pooja's Restaurant. The gift was a beautiful old backgammon set made of pale and dark woods inlaid with tiny ivory and onyx chips. Sprawled on a faded black-and-white Indian print quilt, John taught Joss how to play the ancient game and the set occupied a permanent place on the bed-turned-sofa.

Now her hat was tossed unceremoniously next to the open board game. Joss leaned back on the pillows piled against the headboard and watched in amusement as John carefully untied her cloddish shoes. He removed them and the ugly black socks too.

He pressed his fingers into the tops of her feet, causing long furrows to dent the swollen flesh there. He pulled the wool trousers from her ankles and tossed them on the floor.

Off came the shreds of her black panties. They were destroyed for sure, but fortunately were not her best pair since she had dressed that morning for a funeral not a passionate encounter.

Wearing only his boxers now, he scooted forward on the divan to address the problem of the rest of her uniform. The itchy jacket disappeared quickly, but he lingered over the buttons of the navy dress shirt, pressing each one through its hole with deliberate slowness. He placed her watch and cellphone in the rectangular box of the backgammon set.

He somehow managed to remove the stiff shirt without dislodging the black silk tie, which he loosened to let hang over the white undershirt that covered her bra. The tank top was damp with sweat and clung to her stomach and ribs under her breasts.

She thought she must look ridiculous, half-naked, in the sticky remnants of her formal wear. But she was too tired to object. And as always, she found his intensity and fierce attention were irresistible.

As he hovered over her she was sure he wanted to kiss her, push for another round of sex then. But he suddenly broke the mood by popping up from the sofa and heading into the bathroom.

When he emerged a few minutes later, she could hear the rush of water filling the tub.

"You want me to carry you?" He glanced at her feet with genuine concern.

"I'm sure I can make it from here." She smiled and hoped it sounded like a joke. But she welcomed the offered arm and leaned heavily on him as they crossed the apartment's expanse with halting steps.

She ached all over and a hot bath sounded wonderful.

This was her favorite room. In contrast to the stark grandeur of the rest of the place, the bathroom, with its enveloping embrace of floor-to-ceiling green tiles felt like a dark arbor or a cave. The steam shower beamed like a glassed-in grotto at one end. But the centerpiece of the space was an immense canoe-shaped tub, molded of sleek white porcelain, which seemed to float like an apparition in the middle of the room.

She could smell roses, her scent, wafting from the lofty bubbles filling the vessel.

"Did you swipe this stuff from my apartment?" She knew she sounded like a fussy school teacher, but she couldn't help it.

"No. I got my own bottle." He pulled a rough-hewn green stool up to the side of the tub and watched her strip off the sodden undershirt, bra, and tie.

"How did you manage that? It's only sold in one store in the city. On 125th Street in Harlem."

She climbed into the tub and sank under the fragrant suds. It felt so good she wasn't really sure she cared about his answer.

"I know. I went there. Yesterday."

His eyes were bright with humor, although his mouth remained solemn. She could feel a tide of teasing about to pour forth. But the warm water was working over every muscle, her feet were losing their heaviness, and she felt accommodating and indulgent.

"So tell me all about your adventures in Harlem. You know you want to."

He stretched out his bare feet until they touched the tub's base and angled his torso back a bit as he balanced on the stool.

The story was simple: he had indeed invaded her apartment, stolen her bottle of body wash (but returned it the same afternoon), and located its source on the Internet.

"I can use the computer too, you know."

That phrase sounded rehearsed enough that she suspected he had delivered it more than once.

He had ridden the Ducati to 125th Street, arriving just as they opened the boutique for the day. The two young store clerks, Keisha and Amari, were quite helpful. And cute too.

She didn't doubt it.

"Oh, I bet they were all over you as soon as you walked in the door."

"Well, I was the first – and only – customer so I guess they had lots of time for me."

He leaned over the side of the tub and fished a white wash cloth from somewhere in the soapy depths. He began gliding the bubbles up and down her sore calves. First the right leg, then the left, not missing a spot.

As he worked over her tender skin, his story of triumph in Harlem grew more elaborate.

"I showed them the bottle and said I wanted more of the same. But Keisha, the one with all the little braids, said I had to be sure I really wanted that one. She kept insisting that I had to at least try out the other scents before I made up my mind for good."

Amusement curled his lips in a most enticing manner. She nodded to indicate he should go on.

"I said I was pretty positive already. But then Amari, the one with the really short skirt, started filling up glass bowls with different scents."

He lifted a handful of bubbles to his face and inhaled, closing his eyes as if remembering the scene from the previous day.

"There was some stuff that smelled like an ocean, and then another one they said smelled like stars and mangoes mashed up together. A third one was supposed to be cocoanut. And another smelled like someone named Mary J. Blige.

"Who is she?"

Joss burst out laughing at this last. And at his round-eyed expression of honest inquiry.

"Am I supposed to know her? Or how she smells?"

"No. Don't worry about it. I'll play you her music sometime when you're in the mood."

"The mood for what?"

He slowly dragged the washcloth over her thighs and she stopped laughing.

"A fiercely independent woman who's making her own kind of happiness."

"Nice."

The lines around his eyes crinkled, but he suppressed the laugh she could see bubbling in his throat.

"Well, I almost got the Mary J. Blige. She did smell good. But in the end, I stuck with the roses."

He looked her straight in the eye.

"I decided I liked your scent the best."

He worked the washcloth lightly between the folds of her sex. She shifted so that the water lapped around his forearm.

She panted slightly as she urged him on.

"So Amari and Keisha were happy, were they?"

He dragged the soapy cloth over her hips and her stomach and between her breasts.

"Well, I don't know. But they looked pretty satisfied when I left."

He dropped the cloth and carefully stroked his bare hand over her right breast and then along the curve below her left breast.

He intently studied the way the dark areolae peeked out from the white foam.

He let one index finger drift until it just nudged a plump nipple. He flicked at the nipple twice until he heard her quick intake of breath. He cupped a mound of bubbles and spilled it at her clavicle, watching the frothy rivulets cascade down her breasts.

Like a scientist trying out a theory, he flicked at the other nipple, testing if the reaction would be the same.

It was, only more so.

She thought his eyes were closed, so tightly did the black lashes seem to cling to his cheekbones. But the movement of his pale lids indicated he was letting his hooded gaze roam over her body.

It was ecstasy being watched like this. Being known like this.

His hand slid back down her stomach and paused. He slipped one finger inside her and paused again.

His eyes glittered but his voice was casual.

"I liked the name of your body wash. 'Ecstasy,' wasn't it?"

How did he do that? Read her mind like that?

It unnerved her and thrilled her at the same time, to be understood so intimately.

"And that's the end of my story."

"Oh, no, it's not. There's more. There must be." Her voice came out as a squeak.

He frowned slightly as he drew his finger back and then probed again.

"Well, O.K. After I made my purchase I got on my bike and rode back down here. That's all. You want more?"

"Yes."

He slid a second finger inside her and she sighed.

She shifted her hips and the water slapped against the sides of the tub.

She watched as the rippling of muscles cascaded from his shoulder to his bicep to his wrist in rhythmic waves that prompted tiny echoing contractions in her body.

She was beyond the point of coy requests.

"You need to get in here with me right now."

He looked at her through his lashes and pursed his lips.

"Well, I could…But it would be a mess to clean up."

"What do you mean?" Desire made her sound shrill even though she tried to keep her voice low.

"Oh, you know: Archimedes, water displacement, 'Eureka.' All that science stuff." His drawl inflamed her.

"Fuck Archimedes."

Her declaration was stout. But at the same time she reached behind her to jerk on the chain, releasing the rubber stopper. She let the water drain until her brown knees poked above the bubbles.

He stood, dropped his boxers, and climbed gracefully into the tub at last. As he settled in facing her, she saw his beautiful cock, ruddy and triumphant, before he sank below the water line.

Mindful of the splash, she slid over his long thighs until their bodies aligned.

This was what she wanted. This was where she needed to be.

Again and again he filled her.

The contrast between the sultry liquid slapping around their hips and the heated weight inside her was exquisite.

All the jumbled thoughts from the day swirled through her mind again: roses and backgammon; gloomy funeral chants and throbbing phone calls; itchy uniform and tight shoes; Francis X. and Mary J. and the heat and the mangoes and the ocean and John.

And the smell of the stars and the roses again. And John. Again.

Sensations welled and collided in her as she moved over him again and again. She gripped his shoulders, slick with the last of the bubbles. Inside and out, she was slippery and warm again.

When she closed her eyes to concentrate on the blooming urge inside, he called her back in the softest tones.

"Look at me, Joss. Stay with me."

Her heavy eyelids opened at his bidding. She focused on the cool intensity of his beautiful face again.

He pressed his fingers into her hips, holding her steady as he lifted them together. She moved over him again and again.

With one hand he raised her chin to bring her eyes level with his again.

"Look at me. Come for me."

She did as he asked again, in a liquid rush that left her gasping.

Sweat and water and tears drenched them both as his release pulsed through them again and again.

After many minutes, he stirred, pressing her ribs and neck with strong steady strokes.

"I can try carrying you upstairs, but we might crash."

"I'm sure I can make it."

She wasn't really sure of anything just yet. If her trembling legs would support her. If her tumultuous heart would let her move at all.

John found towels, green and white, and wrapped her in the white one.

She followed him up the spiral stairs, carefully placing her feet in the damp prints he left on each tread. The iridescent droplets at the small of his back hypnotized her as she climbed behind him.

On the futon, he pulled the cool gray sheets over her and pressed his thighs behind hers, kissing her shoulder blades and her neck and her hairline behind each ear.

She wanted to wait until the sun went down before closing her eyes. But it was the longest day of the year and it didn't seem possible that she could make it to that sunset.

So she didn't fight it anymore and fell asleep in the evening's sweet bright light.


End file.
